


The World's Greatest Lie

by Debate



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Free Will v Predestination, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-20 10:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8246026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Debate/pseuds/Debate
Summary: In a soulmate exists a person's perfect counterpart; tradition states that fate decides what two people will be matched, manifested through the form of a pair of complimentary tattoos. What Riza Hawkeye and Roy Mustang come to learn is that that claim is total bullshit.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> “There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only. It is the hand that evokes love, and creates a twin soul for every person in the world. Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning.”  
> ― Paulo Coelho, _The Alchemist_

Roy was faced with the unfortunate circumstance of having his soulmark printed on the back of his right hand. It wasn’t necessarily something to be embarrassed about, but having something that was supposed to be private and intimate visible for the whole world to see and criticize made him feel uncomfortable. 

He took up the habit of wearing gloves, or, if it was summer, to shove his hands into the pockets of his pants. He liked the way he looked when his hands were in his pockets, he thought it made him seem casual and more genial. He wasn’t quite aware of it, but he had a rather large impression of his own maturity and charm, years of coddling by older sisters could do that to a teenage boy. Blissfully unaware, he stuck his hands in his pockets and plastered a smile onto his face after knocking on the door of the Hawkeye manor in the summer he would turn sixteen. 

The man who answered the door was tall, with an angular nose and a rather appropriately hawkish face. He looked down at Roy with a critical eye. 

“Mr. Roy Mustang, I presume?” 

Roy nodded. “It's nice to meet you, sir!” 

Hawkeye looked at him with a grim expression and a look of cold detachment. Roy inched his hands out of his pockets as slowly and inconspicuously as possible. Casual probably wasn't the way to impress his new alchemy teacher. 

The man blinked at him, with what Roy thought might have been approval, and opened the door wider behind him. 

“Follow me,” 

Roy grabbed his trunk with his left hand and habitually buried his right hand in his pocket once more, following Master Hawkeye through the parlor into the kitchen. Hawkeye preceded to list his expectations and Roy's duties, which the boy listened to intently, almost wishing he had a scrap of paper to take notes on. 

After he had finished, Hawkeye demanded the money that Roy was to pay to cover the first six months of his apprenticeship, which his aunt had helpfully labeled and sealed in an envelope. He then dismissed him for the day to get settled and informed him there would be a basic evaluation the following morning. 

While Roy was left to try and make heads or tails of all the information Hawkeye had rattled off at him, his teacher disappeared up the stairs, like a ship into the foggy sea. 

With some hesitance he grabbed the handle of his case and made to go upstairs when the backdoor opened. 

The blonde girl who entered had hair that was shorn short and overalls that were splattered with dirt and paint.

“Hello,” was the first thing she said when she saw him, “I'm Riza,” 

Roy set his case down again, hand slipping back into his pocket once more. 

“You must be Master Hawkeye’s daughter, he mentioned you. I'm Roy Mustang, by the way,” 

“Yes,” she smiled, “father mentioned you too.” She wiped the palm of her hand on her denim leg and held it out for him to shake. She had dirt under her fingernails; she must have been working in the garden. 

Roy conscientiously reached out to shake her hand, skeptical of the judgement she would pass on the first words his soulmate would speak to him. 

She glanced down at the writing, but if she had any particular thoughts on it she didn't comment, even when her thumb rested over his skin where it read: Sorry to say, sir, but he died last night. 

Her handshake was firm, firmer even than the Madame’s, who Roy considered an expert on all things that might beget a handshake, deals, bargains, bets, and the like. And Chris was always insistent on a firm handshake, she claimed it was a sign of good character. Roy had easily accepted that explanation in his youth, but had grown to question it when he realized the depth of his mother’s scheming, something not only illegal, but also of particularly bad character. He was quite confident in his assumption that young Miss Hawkeye is not involved with such things though. 

“Nice to meet you, Miss Hawkeye,” Roy said reaching for his case again, meaning to make a quick exit and allow himself time to get settled in the guest room Hawkeye had mentioned. 

“Likewise,” the girl said, moving to the sink to wash her hands, and then added, “Good luck with all that alchemy nonsense,” 

Roy might have taken offense to that comment two years ago, but he had suffered enough blows to his favorite hobby-turned-obsession from his “sisters” to develop a thick skin against those critical of the science. 

Roy laughed as he navigated up the steps, “Alchemy is amazing! Just you wait and see!” 

…

It was April, and it was raining. Recently, it always seemed to be raining, a steady shower had been going on for at least three days. Apparently April showers were notorious in the east, as he had learned two years ago in his first spring in the Hawkeye household. 

Even when it wasn't raining the air felt damp and heavy and the ground was supersaturated with water, making all the earth a giant mud pile. 

They had lost power the previous night, and in the harsh conditions it was unsafe to try and repair the connection, water conducted electricity after all. 

Roy often wondered how they got any power from so far out in the countryside and personally suspected Master Hawkeye had some kind of secret alchemy in place.

Regardless, the missing power meant the house was lit with natural evening light that was dampened by the dark clouds outside, and a collection of old oil lamps and candles. The mood lighting and stormy weather gave the entire situation a very gothic feel, and Roy would be lying if he said it didn't excite him. 

“Why are you all jittery?” Riza asked as she put a pot of water on to boil. They were lucky that the gas was still running and that the stove could work as long as they had a match, something they were in no danger of running out of in the home of the Flame Alchemist. 

“I'm not jittery,” he protested as he finished cutting the ends off the green beans. “I mean if anything, I'm happy. There's practically no light to see by, which means there's no light to read by, which means I don't have to do my homework. It's a great situation all around,” 

“Then why do you keep looking around nervously?” 

Roy sighed, he'd been caught. How was that girl so perceptive? He had lived in her house for nearly two years now, and although they didn’t spend a lot of time together, she always seemed to know what he was thinking. 

“I mean, doesn't it kinda feel like we're in a ghost story to you? You have to admit, it's kinda spooky,” 

“Ghost aren't real,” Riza answered resolutely, cracking open the lid to check the water’s progress. 

“Okay, then a vampire story. I mean, we are in a manor,” 

Riza scoffed. “My house is hardly a manor. And vampires aren't real either,” 

“Have you no imagination?” Roy grumbled as he washed the knife off in the sink and then leaned over the countertop, tapping the dull back edge of the knife against the wooden cutting board. 

“Of course I do. But there's a clear distinction between what is fantasy and what is reality,” 

Roy rolled his eyes, of course she would get all logic-y when he was trying to have fun. He banished the idea he had been entertaining of sharing ghost stories, even though he would have had liked to make her scream. 

“Don't roll your eyes!” She demanded in an uppity voice that made him feel two years younger than her and not the other way around. “There isn't any such thing as ghosts or vampires or fairies or fate or magic. That's a fact,” 

Roy didn't really appreciate her cynicism, but he couldn't very well tell her she was wrong about any of her claims, except for maybe…

“You don't believe in fate?” 

“I believe it's impossible for your life to be laid out for you before you were born. Human life is too full of choices for that to be so,” 

Roy smiled as he formed his argument, “But what about soulmates? A person is born with a soulmark, your soulmate is destined,” 

Riza shook her head. “Not everyone has one,” she pointed out, “I don’t. Besides just because someone is your soulmate doesn't mean the relationship will work out. My parents were soulmates, and they were so sure of their love that they let it estrange them from their families, and then my mother died and now my father withers away. What’s the point of having a soulmate if you’re miserable? I’d rather be in love with someone I chose and be happy than let fate decide and disconsolate. It’s not like you need matching words to fall in love, and if you believe otherwise then you're fated to lead an empty and dissatisfied life. And that fate is certain,” 

Roy’s smile fell off his face. He realized this was an argument that she had thought long and hard on, maybe even one she had defended before. And Roy found himself believing every word she said. 

He opened his mouth in order to consent the point, in many ways he had been playing the devil’s advocate anyway, he much preferred the idea that every human made the choices that sculpted their life, but before he could speak Riza drove her point home. 

“And if you really believe your soulmate is your destiny, Mr. Mustang, then I'd reread the words on the back of your hand, because I don't think it's something you want to be fated to,” 

The pot on the stove began to boil over and Riza growled in frustration. It was odd to see Riza so genuinely angry. He couldn't quite tell if she was angry with him, or the mythical development of soulmarks in general. 

She turned the heat on the stove down and pulled the cutting board with the green beans out from under his hands. She moved so quickly and unexpectedly that when she jerked the cutting board out from under him his loose grip on the paring knife resulted in him nicking his finger. 

He set the knife down and sucked his finger where the well of blood appeared. 

Riza paid no mind to him, dumping the vegetables into the hot water. 

“Hey,” he said when she continued to ignore him, her eyes fixed on the pot, stirring it every few seconds, “I didn't mean to offend you. I mostly agree with you anyway, I think that if you believe that everything in your life that happens to you is out of your control, it just seems, I don't know, kinda hopeless,” 

She was looking at him now, wooden spoon still twirling slow circles in the water. 

“I think everyone needs to be in charge of their own destiny. Having someone or something else ruling your life is just inherently wrong. If you lead a happy or sad life, or one full of love or loneliness, every individual should have a say in that. They need to be given a choice. Anything else is just unfair,” She said. 

Roy nodded in agreement, watching her closely. Never before had he heard her speak so openly or even say so much. She was normally a girl of closeted opinions and quiet feet, someone who could easily blend in with the scenery if she chose to do so. 

“Get the colander, please,” she said, the abrupt topic change startling him. He sprang to action, fiddling through the cupboards to find the strainer. 

Over the crashing and bumping of pots and pans he thought he heard her say, “I just want to be happy,” but he wasn't quite sure.

…

His first thought was that the array was beautiful, and utterly amazing. 

Even before he began his close examination and analysis of the alchemy, he could tell it was perfect. Elements and symbols balanced perfectly, the circle a stroke of genius. 

His second thought was full of raging confusion. The chance to learn the alchemy had been all he wanted for the past two and a half years, but he wasn't quite sure if he approved of its presentation. 

“You have...an array tattooed on your back,” he said dumbly. He remembered Master Hawkeye’s dying moments, his comment about his daughter being in possession of his research. “Why…?” He drifted off, apprehensive and unsure. 

“My father asked it of me and I agreed,” she answered simply, back still to him. 

“Isn't this...invasive?” 

“It hurt when I got it,” she admitted, “but I don't mind it so much now. It's a piece of my father that’s mine, and now it's yours too,” she turned her head to look back at him, but didn't quite meet his eyes. Her arms crossed over her chest, so her hands rested on opposite shoulders. He wondered, briefly and stupidly, what she would look like if her hair was longer, if it fell across her back and blocked parts of the tattoo. He shook the thought away. 

“You can start studying it now,” she said with some impatience, “it's not that cold in here,” 

Nethertheless Roy was tempted to cover her shoulders with his coat. The way she was hunched over and hugging herself gave the impression that she was freezing. Or frightened. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes!” She snapped, a hot fire in her voice. She straightened after seeming to sense his reservations, arms dropping to hug her waist rather than her shoulders. 

“Okay then,” he said in a voice hardly louder than a whisper. He tried to make his mind enter a space of concentration and leave the feeling of awkwardness behind. 

But concentrating was hard. Normally when he studied his papers they did not breathe, they did not carry a familiar human scent, the information they held was not crafted over muscles and sinew. And normally when he studied Riza Hawkeye he did not think about flammable gases, he did not think think about thermodynamics, and he did not think of tattoos. 

He had never seen a red tattoo before. Tattoos were not uncommon, not when a large amount of the population was born with them, but they were always black. The red lines were vivid, gushing crimson, but they looked less like blood and more like old wounds, like burns. 

Riza had made it no secret that she did not have a soulmate, and so soulmarks, and by extension, tattoos, were something he never associated with her. 

Oh how very wrong he was. 

Roy took a deep breath and began to focus. But he couldn't help but think that this tattoo was more binding than any soulmark.


	2. Revelations pt I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “You must understand that love never keeps a man from pursuing his destiny. If he abandons that pursuit, it's because it wasn't true love…” ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Perhaps the only consolation of being a State Alchemist in the Ishvalan War of Extermination was that he only really held the position of captain. 

He didn't think he could handle being a full major, in charge of an entire battalion rather than a captain who only led a company. There was only so many fronts he could put up, and presenting as someone courageous--like the army wanted him to--would have been impossible if he was to convince two hundred and twenty-five more people. 

But he was still in charge of seventy-five souls, and despite all the killing he did, he convinced himself that if he kept that many people alive till the end of the war perhaps there would be a purpose to be found in the madness, if he could save life instead of end it then maybe his heart could be saved from the blackness that threatened to rot it like fruit in the sun. 

But the desert swallowed life, the sand became orange from spilt blood. The eyes of the Amestrians and the Ishvalans may have been different, but they all bled the same. The desert accepted all the death, the misery, like a sponge that collected blood instead of water. He missed April, and the days it would rain without end. 

He wished that he could turn the blood into water, (but it was too dense, too thick, the equation would never balance) so his boys died, just like the rest of them. Granger had been shot in the shoulder. It should have been avoided, they had been off duty. Unfortunately, the war provided no breaks, just times that you stood closer to death than others, but it was always only a stone’s throw away. Even off duty there was a risk. 

The stray Ishvalan gunmen was quickly dealt with, and Granger was lucky in the sense that the medics were close by, and that he didn’t need to be carried through a war zone to reach the field hospital. He had a chance, if it happened anywhere else there was no chance he would make it back. 

Roy learned of what had befallen Granger after a debriefing, and after hearing the news he went immediately to the collection of tents that functioned as a clinic. It was an awful place. Corpses lined the ground to the left, each covered in a white tarp waiting to be sent back home with a green flag and a meaningless letter of consolation. It was worthless, but it was more than the dead Ishvalans were granted; they were left to be dumped in mass graves if they were lucky, or in most cases to simply rot where they died. 

Screams and cries and pleadings echoed from inside the tents, the true desperation of humanity, begging to be held off from death. 

Roy moved through the bodies, a living specter among ghosts. It hardly made him feel alive. 

“Nurse!” he called when he caught sight of a person with the indicating armband who wasn’t in the middle of saving someone’s life, “Do you happen to know where I can find Sergeant R. Granger? I’m his C.O.”

The nurse looked up at him, eyes wide and tired, “Sorry to say sir, but he died last night,” 

“Oh, shit. The field medic said that he might have a chance. I’m sorry about...” he choked on his words and locked eyes with the nurse, realization running through him. He then watched the color drain from her already pale face and her eyes widen in realization. His hand itched where it was still covered in his ignition glove. “Oh shit,” he repeated and clenched his hands into fists. They stared as each other for a long, pointless minute. 

“I’m Anya Travoski,” she said lamely, her jaw was trembling. 

“Major Roy Mustang,” he answered and clenched his eyes shut. “I’m sorry this isn’t the place for this. I’ll...see you, when the war ends, if I live. Sorry to take up your time,” 

“Okay,” she answered, looking as confused as he felt. He turned away from her and practically ran away from the clinic feeling shittier than he had when he arrived. 

He had not been sleeping well for the past few months, but that night he didn’t sleep at all. He had met his soulmate today. How fucked up was that? Who meets their soulmate in a warzone? How can a strong, destined relationship come straight from hell? 

He realized that night that much of what he had assumed about soulmates was untrue. You didn’t meet your soulmate and automatically fall in love, your soulmate was just as much a stranger as anyone else you were to meet. At the moment, meeting the nurse, Anya, just left him confused. 

He decided in the early morning to banish the meeting from his mind. His attention was already divided enough and if he was to come out of the war, he needed to narrow his focus and streamline his emotions. 

He managed, for two weeks, until he met Hughes, wearing killer’s eyes, and young Hawkeye stripped of all innocence. And discovered with certainty that whomever had said that to walk through hell with friends was better than walking through it alone was a fucking liar; seeing them there killed him. 

He managed to scrape by, day by day, perhaps only because of Hughes’ best efforts. And eventually, amazingly, the war ended. They came out scarred, Hawkeye more than the rest of them, but the three of them lived, and more of Roy’s men then he could have possibly hoped to save, and so they marched on, to a dream Roy had formed from nothing more than ash. 

...

Roy had always been a city boy, he wasn’t suited for the countryside (and especially not for the desert) and East City was no Central, but it still felt vaguely familiar, like the forgotten remnants of a beloved dream, and it could easily become home. Riza was there too, and she was familiar as well, even if The Lieutenant wasn’t, quite yet. But as East City became home, Riza became Hawkeye, became irreplaceable, and memories of Ishval became sand beneath his fingernails. 

FIve months later, he felt settled in East City; until the desert came to the forefront once more. 

He came back from a meeting with Grumman to see Hawkeye talking with a brown-haired woman in civilian clothing. 

“You’re back, sir. How was the meeting with the General?” Hawkeye asked from behind her desk. 

“Productive. I’m going to need you to schedule a meeting with Colonel Harper for tomorrow. Who’s your friend?” He asked, leaving the files Grumman had handed off to him on his desk. He turned around and was met with the hard gaze of his soulmate. It took more control then he would have liked to admit to not curse aloud. Her hair had been tucked under a nurse’s cap when they had met and and he had not recognized her from behind, but it would have been hard to forget her wide eyes and the pallor of her face. 

“Oh, hello,” Anya said, “I was wondering if I could talk with you?” 

He swallowed and looked at the wall clock. 

“Hawkeye, I think I’m going to take an early lunch,” he said. 

“Of course, sir. I’ll take Major Hughes’ message when he calls at eleven.” He nodded in appreciation, glad for Hawkeye’s easy interpretation of his every need and then grabbed his coat, checked to make sure he still had his wallet in the inside pocket, and then held the door open for Anya as they left his office. 

“She’s very nice,” Anya said conversationally as they made their way down the hall. 

“Yes. She’s good at what she does,” Roy agreed, looking forward and fiddling with his watch where it rested in his pocket. Roy had been learning how to work with people in the past few months, learning what information to share and withhold, it was a complicated algorithm, but his soulmate was never a variable he had thought to consider. What front did he but on for her? Part of his mind (sounding surprisingly like his aunt) told him to be completely honest, but she was a stranger, and had in no way proved herself to be trustworthy. He wasn’t in a position to give people the benefit of the doubt, soulmate or not. 

“I want to speak plainly with you,” She said once they stood on the main steps of HQ, she seemed as confused and tentative as him, but perhaps more strong-willed, and prepared. 

“Feel free,” he answered. They stopped at a street corner, then turned to look eye to eye. She was taller than him, he realized, by an inch or two. There was a distinct lack of pedestrian traffic. 

“You said we’d talk after the war. It’s been five months,” 

“In all honesty, I forgot about that,” he said, which was true. He never lied when he could help it, lies reproduced like rabbits, eventually, you couldn’t keep track of them anymore. “I have been quite busy, and I apologize. I realize now that it was probably unfair to you,” 

“Thank you,” she paused and looked away from him. She turned to the right and began walking once more. “I don’t really know where to go from here. I don’t know what to expect from you, or myself,” 

They agreed on that, if nothing else. 

“Well, I guess I could buy you lunch, as a start,” 

“Yes, thank you,” she accepted, and they agreed to eat at a quaint cafe the next street over. 

“So, where are you from?” he asked after the waiter deposited water for them and took their orders. 

“Born and raised here in East City, actually,” 

Roy nodded, “I’m from Central myself, but I quite like it here. It’s a city that doesn’t have the big city feeling,” God, he felt horribly awkward. He went on plenty of dates, had just gone out the previous friday, but it was always a part of his newly constructed cover, he was never forced to make small talk or play “getting to know you”, but it wasn’t like he could shamelessly flirt with his soulmate, that would just be inappropriate. 

They each took tentative sips of their waters, eyes not meeting. 

“God, I can’t do this,” she said, her words mirroring his own thoughts, “I told myself I would be upfront when I went to headquarters, and I will uphold that promise to myself,” she took a deep breath, and met his eyes with a strong gaze, “To be honest, I’m afraid of you,” 

He blinked in surprise, her admission was shocking and hurtful in a way he couldn’t have anticipated. Roy soundlessly replaced his water on the table and stayed silent as she continued to speak. 

“I saw what happened in Ishval. There were some days where you could smell the burning from miles away,” she paused and looked at him critically, examined his face, “Did you know that even before I could read I wanted to help other people? I remember when the neighbors used to tease my brother, and all I could think was ‘I want to make him feel better’. So when I learned what a nurse was, what they did, I thought the universe was all in order. It’s right here-” she rubbed her left shoulder. Roy tried to remember the words he had used to address her. He was sure he had called out nurse, and then asked something after Granger, he couldn’t remember his exact words. “-my mark of fate, perfectly in line with my own objectives. So imagine my surprise when my soulmate is a murderer. Who burns people alive,” 

Roy’s expression had gone stony, he could feel himself building a wall to seclude himself behind. Every word she spoke was true, something he had acknowledged and accepted, for the most part. But it didn’t make it any easier when he felt like she had clawed her way into his chest to thrust a mirror before him to show him the blackest and ugliest parts of his soul. If that was what having a soulmate was like he wanted nothing to do with it. 

“I am afraid of you, and those awful things you can do. I am afraid of myself, and the implications of someone like you being my other half. Tell me, Roy Mustang, why would the universe pair us together?” 

Roy came to the conclusion that she had a startling amount of bravery. She had every right to be afraid of him, just like how he was sometimes afraid of himself. He realized she must have known she could find him at eastern’s base, and had only now, five months later, worked up the courage to approach him, and deliver such a clear statement of her mind. 

“I can't answer that with any sort of certainty,” he said, making a point of looking her straight in the eye. “I hesitate to believe in fate--or as you call it, the universe--at all.” In his lap, under the cover of the table, he carefully inched off his plain white glove, finger by finger, until his entire hand, and the black words marking it, were completely visible. He let his arm lay across the length of the table, so that she might read the words. Her own hands remained in her lap. “I don't quite know what to make of this. You may make of it anything you want. 

“I won't deny your accusations, they are all true. I am a murderer. Although I ask you withhold your judgements of my character, if only because I believe it would be easier for both of us if you don't hate me,” 

He retracted his hand when she finished reading the tattoo and looked back up at his face. The glove was slipped back on with practiced ease and a minute later the waiter returned with their food. 

Eating provided an excuse not to talk, and both of them seemed eager to perpetuate the silence. 

The waiter had cleared their plates and returned with the check before either of them spoke again. 

“I suppose this is when I ask if I can see you again,” he said as he calculated the tip and counted out the appropriate bills. 

“I-I want to believe in fate,” she stuttered, looking at her hands. “You, and this entire situation, I guess, continue to to confuse and frustrate me,” she paused, “I haven't the faintest notion of who you are,” 

Roy left the check on the edge of the table to be collected by the waiter, and reached into his inside pocket for his little black book. He wrote down the office number on one of the blank pages in the back, ripped it from the spine, and handed it to her. 

“You have no obligation to ever call me. I'll understand if you don't, but it's an option,” 

“You gave me the military line,” she observed, holding the slip of paper between her thumb and forefinger. She was observant, she must have recognized the military’s specialized area code. 

“I'm at work more than I'm home,” he explained, “if you call between nine and six you won't have to give a validation code, although I tend to work later,” 

“Thank you for the meal,” she said, tucking the thin paper into her handbag. She gave no other farewell as she rose from her seat and left the cafe. Roy waited three minutes before leaving as well, walking slower than he usually would so as to not catch up with her anywhere along the way. 

He thought that he would return to a more stable and focused attitude when he returned to the office, but the conversation he had over lunch echoed in his mind, like a song he couldn’t get out of his head. He felt tired. 

Hawkeye returned from her own lunch to find him mesmerized by the slow rotations of the hands on the wall clock. He had abandoned any half-hearted attempts to complete his work some half hour ago, and instead let his mind wander as he sat in his chair. 

He noticed her only because of the distinct click of her boots against the floor. He was decidedly familiar with the way she walked. Her steps were metronomic, almost soothing. 

His eyes shifted down to glance at her face, and any thoughts he might have harbored that she was about to berate or glare at him for failing to complete his assignment were swiftly shattered. 

She was looking at him with a small frown of worry. 

Without saying anything she reached across his desk and captured the telephone, turned it around to face her, and expertly dialed a number. After exchanging a few curt words with the operator she thrust the receiver into his hand and returned to her own desk. 

“Hey, Roy,” the other line picked up, and Roy recognized the caller immediately, as the switchboard operator must have too, after all the frequent calls, because Maes Hughes knew he was on the other side of the line before he even spoke. 

“Hughes,” 

“What’s up?” His best friend asked, an edge of concern in his voice. “I called earlier, but Hawkeye said you were out. Did she deliver my message?” 

She had not, which meant that anything Hughes had said today must have been utter nonsense. Hawkeye would not bother repeating Hughes’ gushings about his fiancee when Roy already heard enough about them everyday, she was too efficient for that. 

“Yeah,” he lied. He didn’t quite know why Hawkeye had called Maes for him, although he understood the general jist of it. “Hey Hughes, when you met Gracia, did you just...fall in love with her?” 

Hughes was more than intelligent enough to catch the cautious tones in Roy’s voice, and refrained from his usual effusive detailings of Gracia’s every perfection. 

“Well sorta, I guess. I mean, I knew she was the one right away, and that was the only reassurance I needed. It’s a lot easier to hand out your heart when you know it’s going to be well taken care of,” 

Roy sighed. It hadn’t been the response he was looking for, and he should have known, Hughes was too much of a romantic to not immediately accept his soulmate. He had always been the type to want love. 

There was a pause before Hughes gasped, “Don’t tell me you met your soulmate!” There was a hint of excitement in his voice now, it would be just like Hughes to overlook Roy’s obvious reservations. 

“Well, yes, actually, I did meet her several months ago, in Ishval, in fact. She’s a nurse.” He could practically hear the way Hughes deflated over the line, his building enthusiasm coming to a crashing halt. “She came to headquarters to find me, so I took her to lunch, where she informed me that she was afraid of me and was that I was just the kind of person that she hates.”

He might have been being a bit dramatic, but Roy thought that the situation called for it. 

“Well...” Hughes said, and Roy thought that on any other occasion he would have been thrilled to strike Maes Hughes speechless, but only managed to do so now, when he desperately sought his advice. 

Roy had never seen two people who were so happy to be together as Hughes and Gracia. There’s was the sort of story that made you believe in love, in the trueness that in a soulmate existed your other half. 

“I don’t love her, Hughes. She doesn’t love me. If it weren’t for the damn words on my hand we would have never met again,” 

“You don’t love her, yet, is what you mean,” Hughes said with a fresh vote of confidence. “You have to make an effort. Spend time with her, get to know her. Love will grow from that,” 

“What if I don’t want to love her?” Roy said, realizing they were coming to the crux of his problems. “What if I can’t,” 

Roy realized, all of a sudden, that he had been staring at Hawkeye for the duration of the conversation. It wasn’t until she looked up to meet his eyes that he noticed the way he had been studying the plains of her face. He didn’t look away, despite being caught, and they watched each other as he continued to talk to Hughes. 

“Everyone can love, Roy. And everyone deserves it too. Whatever stupid, self-deprecating things you believe about yourself, you love a helluva lot more than most people. If you don’t want to love her, than don’t. Fate can’t make you fall in love with someone, or stay in love with someone, you have to chose to do so,” 

There was no way Hawkeye could hear Hughes from her desk across the room, but she gave an almost imperceptible tilt of her head, as if she was in agreement with Hughes’ statement. 

“Thanks, Hughes. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Roy exhaled. He was in too much of a daze, still processing Maes’ words, to take notice of the way he set the receiver down before Hughes could even return the farewell. 

Hawkeye’s eyes flicked back to her work, her fingers reclaiming the pen she had abandoned on the desktop. 

“Better, sir?” 

“Yes, I believe so, thank you, Hawkeye,” 

He rolled his pen between his fingers. Upon consideration, he had never really thought of himself as one for romantic love. When he was young he had assumed he would meet his soulmate in the same way most people did, unexpectedly, but with great happiness. And yet in those old, half forgotten musings, he had never been excited to meet his soulmate. He didn't crave a romantic connection with the fierceness some of his friends had, and wasn't expertly planning the customary conclusion of growing old with someone he loved. 

He had kissed, and dated, and had sex with girls casually, despite the trend to hold off romantic endeavors until one met their soulmate. Unlike Maes, he had never sought out love, comfortable enough with companionship. 

That had all been before the war of course, in the half year since the war’s conclusion he hadn't thought of his future in a personal sense at all. Unless, of course, his future musings revolved around reaching the top. Beyond that, he didn’t particularly care. 

And he still felt that way, how utterly selfish of him, to so easily deny a person their soulmate, even if that person was himself. He was at least, slightly placated by the fact that she seemed to carry no interest in him. 

He rearranged some of the papers on his desk and got back to work. He wasn't proud that he didn't care, but it didn't bother him either. He wasn't in love in Anya, and he wouldn't be in love with Anya, he was fairly certain of that, and was also fairly certain that the feeling was mutual. 

He and Hawkeye both stayed late that evening as a result of Roy's procrastination. In an interesting change of pace, Hawkeye didn't reprimand him once for his slacking earlier in the day. If Roy had been in a better mood he would have taken advantage of the fact, but his sour mood was likely the reason Hawkeye had left him alone in the first place. 

“Are you done, sir?” She asked at a quarter to ten. 

“Just about, I won't be ten more minutes. You're dismissed, and thank you for helping me,” 

She didn't leave immediately like he thought she would, instead she spent idle minutes reorganizing her desk drawers, as if it was an action she needed to see to at once. 

They finished their respective tasks at the same time. With a quick and understanding glance, they both rose to collect their coats and left the office together after Hawkeye flicked the light off. 

“You didn't have to wait for me,” he addressed her, once they were in the empty stairwell, their matched steps echoing around them. 

“You seemed out of sorts today. I thought you might appreciate some company, I apologize if that was presumptuous of me, sir,” 

He had been afraid, when he first requested her transfer, that there would be a jagged discomfort that outlined his interactions with Hawkeye, like burn tissue. Instead the adjustment to her company had clicked easily into place, like the prongs of two well oiled gears turning around each other, single entities, yet still reliant. 

“Not at all, Lieutenant. I suppose it's been an...emotional day,” he paused mid step and then spun around to face her, “What do you make of the day’s events?” He had also discovered in the months that they had began to work together that he valued Hawkeye’s opinion in all matters. He wasn’t quite sure how much she knew beyond what she had clearly overhead him say to Hughes over the phone, but he got the impression that Anya had told her she was his soulmate, her decision to call Hughes proved that. 

“The entire situation was poorly timed,” she said, “Beyond that, I'm more inexperienced than you in such matters. That's why I called Major Hughes,” 

Upon reflection he decided that it was likely he wasn’t the only one who was out of sorts throughout the remainder of the day. 

“I appreciate that, but I'm asking your thoughts,” 

“Sir, I don't have a soulmate, I'm ignorant about such things,” 

They had moved through the main hallway, the lights dimmed to conserve energy, accompanied only by the night guards and janitorial staff. When they exited the building the chill night air bit into their exposed skin. 

“I wasn't asking about a soulmate, Hawkeye, I was asking if you've ever been in love,” he said on the main steps of Eastern HQ. 

She only blinked at him, her expression as unyielding as stone. 

“I'd better hurry home, sir, it's quite cold out. Goodnight,” she said with a quick salute and nod of her head, completely ignoring his question. 

She flew down the steps in a practiced and dignified manner, in such a way that an unknowing eye would never guess she was running away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that the reasons Anya had the potential to be Roy's soulmate are clear, and that she was an enjoyable character to read about. It was a bit unintentional, but while I was writing this, I noticed that I was writing Roy in a way that felt grey/aromantic, which I have now taken on as my headcanon for him, and provides more evidence for why he isn't interested in his soulmate, and why he's ignorant to Riza's feelings. Next chapter will be up either next Friday or Sunday, tell me what you think so far!


	3. Revelations pt II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “When someone sees the same people everyday, they wind up becoming a part of that person's life.”― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

It wasn’t something that occurred every day. She was frequently far too busy to dwell on personal matters, what with helping to organize a group of loyal--if questionably diligent--soldiers, and the ever difficult job of managing the Colonel’s affairs. But it could never seem to skate around the fringes of her cognizance for long; the heavy feeling that rested in both her her heart and in her mind, the knowledge that she was in love. 

To even acknowledge it in such simple terms made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She had a goal that was more important than how she felt. Her feelings were in fact an interference. And it was inappropriate. She didn’t need marked notations in the soldier’s regulations guide and yearly seminars on workplace sexual harassment to know that.

And yet.

And yet the feelings persisted, if not grew. 

When she first felt the nagging feeling, not even two months after her assignment to East City, she had attempted to brush it off as a base craving, and when she couldn’t convince herself of that, she had deduced that it was a byproduct of their proximity alone, familiarity breeding the false imitation of affection. 

When that theory seemed to be disproved too, she decided to describe it as deep fondness, the same as which she would feel for any close friend. 

But despite even her most valiant attempts at labeling and compartmentalizing her feelings, she was still left floundering in the quiet moments she allowed herself to consider such things. 

Just about five months after she was transferred under him, Riza Hawkeye reached the unavoidable and rather troublesome conclusion that she was, indeed, in love with Roy Mustang. 

It happened to coincide quite well with his realization that he wanted nothing to do with romantic love, Hawkeye was left to lament her own poor timing. 

She wouldn’t say that she hadn’t been concerned when the unassuming civilian woman had entered the office, introduced herself as the Lieutenant Colonel’s soulmate, and demanded to see him. But by the day’s conclusion, it seemed quite clear to her that despite having met, and going on a date of sorts, that the Lieutenant Colonel and his soulmate would not fall in love

The part of her that was selfish, and irresponsible was quite glad. 

The side of her that was prone to self-sacrifice was not. 

She would never have a soulmate. She had come to terms with that in her early adolescence, strengthened by her father’s message that she was better off, she had taken no personal offense in being unmarked. Through the friendships and intersped crushes she had had in her youth, she had discovered that love was not limited to soulmarks, being born without one didn’t make a person deficient, didn’t mean they were incapable or unworthy of love. When Riza was young she liked to believe that it simply meant her love was too great to be contained to a single person. 

As she aged she couldn’t quite hold onto that belief with the fervor she had in her youth (war and murder tended to rip all the happy ideals of love out of a person) but for other people, ones lucky enough to have a message from some greater truth branded on their skin, she wanted nothing but happiness. And for Roy especially, who had been so clearly marked by death from the beginning, in an omen he had so easily seemed to ignore, she wanted happiness for most of all; if for nothing else than as proof that people like them could still be happy, could still deserve happiness. 

But he had denied himself. A message from God, from the Universe, printed right there on his hand, and Roy Mustang had the nerve to ignore it. For seemingly the same reasons that she wanted him to accept it. He was never as selfish as he seemed to believe. 

By the end of that day, when she had finally returned to the warmth of her apartment and was alone with only the warble of the radio for company, she sat at the foot of her bed, the weak bedside lamp warning off darkness, and with it the promise of sleep, and just thought. 

She was in love with a man, who had, in one day, demonstrated that he was both unaware of her feelings towards him (at least for the moment) and that he had no interest in romantic love. This was both perfectly fine and acceptable, probably for the best, all things considered. 

Hawkeye had never believed in fate, but as the seconds ticked by, bringing the morning dawn and the start of the new day ever closer, she decided at the late hour, that life was simply unfair, as it proved to be time and time again, and that to deal with it she would simply have to think pragmatically. Focusing on her job, working for her superior officer, rather than the man she loved, banishing the emotion from her interactions with him; that would be simpler. After all, Roy Mustang certainly wasn’t her soulmate, and there was no hope in mistaking that she was his, “fate” had clearly already decided that--whatever their connection--their souls didn’t match. 

Others found comfort in knowing that they were already destined, as Riza clicked off the lamp for the night, she found comfort in knowing that they never would be. 

And so, the days marched on, stringing together as military life quickly became more hectic with new promotions and the additions of a high-strung alchemist and his disembodied brother to the team. It was easy to banish thoughts of love and soulmate’s from one’s head when they were so busy, easier still when the nurse never made a reappearance. 

Not to say she had forgotten, far from it in fact, but it was easy to let her devotion simmer on the backburner when the main course was being prepared. 

So it came as a bit of a surprise one morning, when she had walked into the office to be greeted by the Colonel saying, 

“I was thinking of you last night, Lieutenant,” 

He hadn't even looked up from his desk when he said it, which let Hawkeye know he had meant it innocently, and yet she froze in the action of hanging up her coat, allowing the jacket to slip momentarily from its designated peg. 

She hung it back up without paying it any attention as the Colonel glanced up at her with a look of mild bafflement. 

Riza coughed into her hand as she moved to her desk to restart her work from where she had left it yesterday, just to give her mouth something to do. She wasn't quite sure why the idea of the Colonel thinking about her outside of the work setting was so unnerving (or rather, she knew exactly why, and didn't want to acknowledge it). 

“Anyway…” Mustang said as she got settled into her seat, “I was reading a report about a new weapons development program they were starting in the north, I wanted to ask you your opinion on the matter, but I thought it would be inappropriate to call you at home about it,” 

“No, it wouldn't be an imposition,” she found herself saying without making any conscious decision to speak. “Feel free to do so, if the need arises.” She coughed again, mentally both berating and congratulating herself on saying something so forward. He beamed at her upon hearing her words, and any thoughts she had about retracting her statement were swiftly banished. 

“Regarding the new program,” she said, shifting her attention to the paperwork in front of her so as to avoid the happy jump of her heart, “I don't think I have the jurisdiction or the clearance to read such a report. I don't know anything concrete about it,”

“I'll get you a copy,” he replied just as Falman walked through the door. 

She gave a curt nod and returned her attention to the day’s work, wondering exactly what their conversation had implied. She hadn’t much time to dwell on the matter, however. Their regular Tuesday had been interrupted with emergency evacuation drills, resulting in a rather wasted afternoon. 

To make up for the lost time, the entire team had to clock an extra hour of overtime, and Mustang and Hawkeye another hour after that, to ensure they would meet all their deadlines. 

When the work was finally done, Mustang cracked the stiff joints in his writing hand and closed his eyes while leaning back in the chair for a brief moment of reprieve. 

“You know you didn’t have to stay after everyone else left, I could have handled it,” he said while rolling out his shoulder. 

“Well, sir, that would have meant you would have needed to sit here for at least another hour, and you’re going to have premature arthritis as it is,” she responded at the same time he tilted his neck to the side with a sickening pop! He laughed as he stood from the chair and purposefully refrained from stretching further, not that she could really blame him for his discomfort, the military funding certainly didn’t go into comfortable furniture. She was half convinced they could make any Drachman spy crack just by forcing them to sit in the office chairs for a couple hours. 

“...And it’s important that you get a good night’s rest, sir,” 

He grunted as he moved past her to gather his coat. It wasn’t a very encouraging response, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to ask about his sleeping patterns, especially when she herself didn’t practice what she preached. 

She slipped on her coat, a ‘goodnight’ on her tongue when she realized that the coat fell almost all the way to her ankles. 

She turned and tapped the Colonel on the shoulder, his head snapped to the side to look at her and he looked particularly startled for a moment before schooling his features. 

“Sorry, sir, but I believe I took the wrong coat. This one’s too long,” she told him, trying to keep her confusion from his strange reaction out of her voice. 

“Ah of course, my apologies, Lieutenant.” They fumbled for a moment as they traded their matching military issued overcoats, and Riza felt her knuckles graze the back of his hand ever so briefly. 

They both put on their proper jacket, and bid each other a hasty farewell before awkwardly remembering that they would both be walking the same way as they made to exit the building. They reached the main steps of Eastern HQ and said goodbye once more. Just as Hawkeye was about to raise a hand in farewell, the Colonel took a step forward and tapped her left shoulder, his hand lingering for hardly more than a second. 

Her hand returned to her side at the same time as his, although she never got to complete her wave of goodbye. She exhaled and felt her shoulders relax. The Colonel beamed at her, his smile not reflective of the late hour or the bags under his eyes, only that for one clear moment, he was incomparably happy. He gave a slight nod of his head and then departed down the steps without another word. 

The next day found the Colonel to be more distracted than usual, which surprised Hawkeye after he had been so diligent the night before. It was nearing noon and the Colonel was undermining all their hard work from last night by wasting his time tapping out a beat on the telephone with his pen and casting her guilty looks every few minutes. 

“Sir, would you please stop that incessant tapping?” She snapped with more than a mere hint of annoyance. “You’re wasting time,” 

She saw him visibly deflate at her words, but his pen did stop. He sat it down on the surface of his desk so that it didn’t make a single sound. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” 

He was looking at her apologetically, his gaze soft enough to cushion any fall. Her brow furrowed as he looked away from her. 

“I think I need to make a phone call,” he said abruptly, jerking from his seat. He moved past her desk in a flurry, she hardly had a chance to say, 

“Sir! Your phone’s right there, on the desk!” Before the door closed behind him. 

“What’s up with the Colonel, Hawkeye?” Lieutenant Havoc ventured after witnessing Mustang’s strange outburst. 

Hawkeye took a steadying breath before rising from her seat too.

“I intend to find out. I shouldn’t be long. I won’t be happy if all of you start slacking too, that isn’t something you want to emulate,”

Hawkeye was disquieted by the Colonel’s behavior that day. Last evening he had seen so at ease, but this morning he had seemed almost jittery around her, as if he was a homing device that was latched onto her signal; this was abnormal too, generally their interactions passed with a marked ease, soothed by years of familiarity. 

But perhaps Hawkeye was not disquieted by his behavior alone, but by what it all implied, something both wondrous and far more distressing. 

His tentativeness, his startlement when she had touched him, ever so briefly, and most prominent, the way he had smiled at her, like she had just pinned the fourth star onto his epaulettes. And because Hawkeye was overtly aware of these things, it became clear that the Colonel was a man in love, with her. And somehow he didn’t know the sentiment was shared. 

Recognizing what she now knew, it was only logical that he had left to call Maes Hughes, somewhere where he wasn’t at danger of being overheard. That clearly overruled calling in the office, and in using the phones next to the communications office on the main floor. 

She walked past the coms office on her way downstairs, just to make sure, and was correct in her assumption. That left only an outside line, and while she knew there existed a possibility he would walk all the way back to his apartment, it was far more likely that he would simply stop by a payphone, since he seemed to be in such a rush. 

She stopped on the main steps, going to a payphone certainly didn’t narrow her options in a large and well connected city such as East. There were easily a dozen payphones within easy walking distance of HQ. 

But she knew the Colonel was seeking privacy, but only as a most basic requirement. For all accounts and purposes his priority was speed, which meant he wouldn’t have wandered far. Her boots pounded on the steps and then on the concrete of the sidewalk as she turned west, on what most would call an inkling, the direction that would take them geographically closer to Hughes, even if it was only by several hundred meters. 

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said seeing him hunched over, inserting hundred cenz coins into the phone, was a discovery of luck, but she knew the Colonel well, his habits and his thought processes, he was only a complicated person to those who didn’t know him. 

She paused twenty paces behind him, unsure whether to eavesdrop while his back was still to her, or to confront him. 

She decided to move forward and tapped him on the shoulder just as the line connected. After all, the matter only truly concerned the two of them, it would be more appropriate that they spoke first, before he ran off to get well-meaning, but possibly poorly-informed, advice. 

At her touch, he straightened his back immediately. 

He turned to face her slowly, fear of being caught plastered on his face, the phone still held tight to his ear and the cord wrapping around him comically. 

“Um,” he said, most likely speaking to both Hawkeye and to the other end of the line. Seeing something in her gaze, he continued, “Sorry, Hughes, I’ll call you later,”

It was only after he had untangled himself from the phone line and stepped out of the booth with an expectant look on his face that Hawkeye realized she had followed him blindly, without any idea of what to say. 

“I apologize,” he said after he realized she would not break their silence or their gaze, “I realize now that it was unprofessional of me to run out of the office like that,” 

“Yes it was,” she answered, and feeling herself lose her courage said, “We should head back now,” 

She had given him an easy out, a simple way to deny or ignore what was hanging in the air around them. But Roy Mustang never took the bait, never wanted an easy way to do anything. 

He didn’t move out from the shadow of the phone booth, and she would not lead him anywhere. 

A car sped past them on the street, the rush of cold air and her lack of coat caused the hairs on her legs and arms to stand on end. She felt herself shiver quite violently. 

“You’re cold, let’s go back,” the Colonel whispered. It took another moment for him to step out in front of her, like his legs were weighted with sandbags and he couldn’t muster the will to lift them. 

The walk back to HQ seemed longer than the journey to the telephone booth, odd, considering return journeys almost always seemed shorter. Perhaps they were just walking slower, or maybe the strong thump of her heart held the seconds between beats for longer. 

He paused just in front of the first step of the rather imposing white-bricked building. 

It was just midmorning, too late for even the most tardy stragglers to be coming in for work and too early for most to be taking a lunch break. Not to say that there weren’t various soldiers milling about, but far fewer than would be present at most other times of day. It provided a modicum of privacy in such a public place. 

“Lieutenant I would be bereft if I didn’t inform you of something that came to my attention last night,” he enunciated, as if he was trying to distance himself from the statement, the intensity of his eyes proved he was unable to do so. 

“Oh?” she questioned, the slow steady beat of her heart replaced with a rapid drum of anticipation. 

He wasn’t quite facing her, standing half a step before her and to her right so that they were perpendicular, but with a slight tilt of his head they were able to look eye-to-eye. 

He lowered his voice so that even standing so close to him it was near inaudible over the pounding of feet, the squabbles of those around them, and the street traffic. 

“You’re my soulmate,” 

He said it softly, but with a jarring confidence, meant to be non-disputable, a statement, not a deliberation. She opened her mouth, and it was only after she said--

“No I’m not,” 

\--that she realized she was going to challenge him on the point, no matter how elated she felt upon his confession, the pit of dread that settled deep into her stomach brought her crashing down. 

She had to steel herself upon seeing the confusion filter across his face. 

“Hawkeye…” he began to protest, but she knew she had to shut him down before he made a scene, or, god forbid, before he thought to retract the statement. Even if she knew that nothing could ever become of them, she would still cherish those words, spoken so earnestly. 

“I don’t have a soulmate. And you, sir, you’ve already met yours. Don’t-don’t be delusional,” 

His expression had changed from confusion to mild horror, his chest rising and falling as he tried to control his breathing. 

“Hawkeye, you must know that’s not what I meant. It’s-” 

“It’s dangerous,” she interrupted, “for you to suggest such things, sir,” 

He was frustrated now. He stared at her, as if looking at her with enough intent would allow her to understand what he wanted to say. 

The problem was it was working. She knew exactly what he wanted to tell her. 

If she would have allowed him the chance to properly articulate himself, he would have gone on to say he didn’t give a damn about the writing on the back of his hand. He would have condemned fate, would have written off propriety, would have affirmed her of her own importance to him. 

Her heart ached simply imagining it. 

“Hawkeye, please,” he begged. Somewhere along the line he had turned to fully face her, and the intensity had fallen from his face to be replaced with a soft and bleary focus, as if his image was being reflected in the concave of a spoon. 

“Sir,” she retorted, putting as much weight as she could into the single word. She watched his eyes trace her mouth as it formed around the succinct syllable. He wanted to kiss her. The thought of it made her dizzy. “Sir,” she tried again, but her voice tapered off at the end and lost its desired effect. 

Her awareness narrowed to the space he occupied, a bull could have barreled down the steps of Headquarters and she wouldn’t have noticed. His head was tilted ever so slightly towards her, asking permission, seeking guidance, and it was with a tremendous effort that she snapped a hand up to cover her mouth. 

He straightened immediately, but still did not look away from her. 

“I-sir,” she tried, unable to articulate everything she wanted to say to him. Never had she imagined that she would ever have to leave her feelings open for inspection, and it was still too soon after learning that her devotion was requited to have properly weighed all the pros and cons of any sort of romantic (or physical) affiliation. 

But now that she was forced to make a decision, one where she knew neither the options nor the outcomes, her heart, buried under years of ignored emotional stress and denial, begged for release. For a shared confession, for his lips to fit against hers. 

But the side of her that was all logic, and requisition forms, and the goal, would not allow for such careless waste. 

“Sir, I appreciate the sentiment,” she said willing him to understand just how much she truly did appreciate it with her eyes, and continued, “but I believe that is misplaced, and poorly timed,” 

“Poorly timed?” he echoed. The wind took hold of his bangs, dark strands of black fluttering against his pale forehead, he didn’t even blink at the disturbance. 

“Yes. Do you understand me?” 

He finally tore his gaze away from her, looking abashed, and wiped his mouth against the back of his glove, banishing the memory of something that never happened. 

“With astounding clarity. We should do back inside, forgive me for keeping you out in the cold, Lieutenant.” He turned sharply on his heel, and began marching up the steps. It was only after he mentioned it that Hawkeye felt the cold settle into her bones again and was glad to feel her blood pumping as she took up the steps. 

“There was nothing to apologize for, sir,” she said when they were inside and their pace slowed. Riza didn’t dare speak again until they were alone in the stairwell on their way to the office on the third floor. She paused in her ascent, and a moment later the Colonel followed suit when he didn’t hear her measured steps behind his own. “I would just like to say that I enjoy my job, and that I enjoy working with you. That’s something I have no intention of ever letting go of,” 

He seemed to notice how she dropped the formalities in her speech to speak plainly with him. He gave her a curt, understanding nod, and responded, 

“I assure you the feeling is mutual. You are invaluable. I wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of that,” 

She thought for a moment that he might apologize, but she was glad that he didn’t. An apology would have undermined their discussion on the steps. And even if she had rejected him, the idea that he viewed her as his soulmate sent a thrill through her. It would be something she could recall fondly on cold nights. 

Their subordinates were suspicious of them when they reentered the office, casting them curious glances after they had both ran off. 

“Major Hughes called while you were away, sir,” Fuery informed them, “he told to me to tell you to call him back as soon as possible. He seemed quite worried,” 

The Colonel waved him off as he got resettled at his desk. 

“It can wait until after I get some of this work done. You wouldn’t believe the talking-to the Lieutenant dished out, I don’t think I’ve seen her quite so passionate about anything before,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of unexpected free time today so this chap is up a day early. Final chapter will probably be up next weekend :)


	4. Endings (That are Beginnings)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “One is loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.”  
> ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Normalcy didn’t return in the same way she thought it would. 

When she had worked under Bradley for those isolating six months all she had wanted was to go into the Colonel’s office and work the same way she had for the past five years. Now, after two weeks returned to what once had been normal, she realized that she should have known that things couldn’t return to the way they were. 

There were major changes, Havoc was still absent, and in despite of how well he was doing in his rehab, it was unlikely that he would ever return to the army. Falman was gone too, returned to the frigid north. The Colonel put on a facade of anger to losing a man to Armstrong, but it was clear he missed Falman’s steady presence more than any petty competition. 

There were minor changes too, the Promised Day had altered the atmosphere in the military. A lot of soldiers who hadn’t been involved in Central were tentative to trust Grumman, and those who had fought in the coup for Bradley were left to question if they should have trusted those who had killed their comrades. 

Roy was able to avoid a lot of scrutiny while he was still hospitalized. The hospital staff did a surprisingly good job in keeping away the media circus, but once he was released, keeping away the parade of reporters proved near impossible. 

Roy had yet to elaborate on the statement Breda had released in his name on the Promised Day. They had decided that it was unwise to speak prematurely, since anything he might say in such a highly publicized event could come back to haunt them if reconstruction didn’t happen exactly as they planned. The journalists certainly weren’t going to let up from their badgering, some even dared to criticize the Colonel for saying nothing at all. The constant presence of the nosy stringers provided ample reason for Riza to drive the Colonel home in the evenings, another wall of defense, they claimed. And this change, although minor, gave the impression to Hawkeye of being of monumental importance.

Perhaps it was because the drives felt oddly intimate. There was a closeness that was necessitated by the walls of the car, compounded by the fact that they were alone, finally, after months of distance. Add the emotional and life-changing events that had befallen herself and the Colonel on the Promised Day, and it became clear that they were gravitating towards each other, both desperate for closure. 

Of course closure was something neither of them would reward themselves with, not when there was still so much work left to do. But the daily car rides were like the gold stars she used to receive on exams, small tastes of success. She treasured them, and they quickly became her favorite part of the day. 

So when Roy announced that it would be the last day she would need to drive him home, some five months after Grumman had taken office, she felt rather crushed. 

“Oh,” was all she managed to say in response, her hand still holding the keys to the car, but hesitating to turn the ignition. 

“I thought you would be pleased, Captain,” he said, observant of her displeasure, looking between her motionless hand and her face, “I can’t imagine driving me around has ever been the highlight of your day,” 

She wanted to snap at him for how utterly wrong he was; to yell at him that it was the exact opposite. She wondered how he could have misinterpreted her so spectacularly. 

“No, sir, I’ve always enjoyed doing so actually,” 

“Oh.” He looked away from her, clearly embarrassed by having read her wrong. 

“Has it been a bother to you then?” she continued, finally turning the ignition, but leaving the car in park. 

“Oh, no, not at all,” he protested, “It was just-” he swallowed, “-you’ve always seemed so quiet and contemplative on these drives. I thought it was because you were annoyed,” 

“No.” She put the car into reverse and began the short drive to his apartment, still amazed that they could have had such a misunderstanding. 

The traffic was bad, usually they left the office so late that it wasn’t an issue, but today they had actually left at a decent hour, and became stuck in rush hour traffic. 

Mustang cleared his throat before saying,

“Hawkeye, the reason you wouldn’t have to drive me around anymore was because Grumman finally cleared my transfer request, we can head out east in two days,” 

Her head snapped to the side to look at him, no fear of taking her eyes off the road when the car was stuck bumper to bumper. 

“He finally signed off on it?” She asked with growing enthusiasm. He nodded. “You really should have led with that, sir,” 

She shook her head in amusement and returned her attention to the road. 

Even after all the time that had passed since Grumman had taken office, Mustang and the remainder of his team were still stuck in Central. The former Colonel, now Brigadier General, was desperate to go out east and uphold the promise he had made to Marcoh, but the cleanup, both literal and political, that came with upending a military regime could not be so easily taken care of. 

“Well, it would have been nice if he gave us a little more of a heads up,” Riza mused as she inched the car forward. “There’s a lot to do in two days,” 

Roy hummed in agreement, “That’s why I’m giving you the day off tomorrow. To take care of packing and to find a place to live. I’ll be able to handle everything at the office,” 

“Are you sure, sir?” she asked, making a turn. “You will need to take care of packing your belongings too,” 

“It’s a non issue,” he dismissed. “I called my old landlord and he said that there’s an available space in my old building. Besides I never really got around to unpacking from when we moved here to begin with,” 

“I could say the same for myself,” 

He laughed, “I’m glad that’s settled then. I’ll call you tomorrow, just to let you know that everything’s in order. And if you could buy train tickets for Breda, me, and yourself, that would probably be for the best, Fuery won’t come down until Friday because of all his equipment,” 

Riza nodded in understanding as they turned onto his street. She parked the car on the curb in front of his building and even though none of the reporters they feared were seen milling out of his apartment, she got out of the car to walk with him to the short distance to his door. 

His hand hovered over the doorknob, and she wondered how he managed to convince her everyday, with nothing more than a look, that he would ask her up to his apartment, when all he invariably said was a thankful goodnight. Tonight was no different, with a single wish of good luck in concern to her packing, he bid her farewell, and slipped into his building. 

Walking up the steps to Eastern HQ two days later was accompanied with an odd warmth that felt like coming home. It didn’t quite make sense when only a short period of her life had been spent in East City, but only after coming back did she realize that she had missed it. 

“It’s nice to be back,” the General remarked, clearly thinking the same as her. 

“Yes,” she agreed, and Breda gave a grunt of assent. 

Hawkeye appreciated how the halls were unchanged. Sure, the faces stationed behind desks were different, and the postings at the end of each hall were new, but it still smelt like shoe polish and lentil soup from the mess, and the noon time light fell through the windows in the same way it always had. 

Their new office was on the west side of the building instead of the south, and it was larger too. It was also comically clean, like it was organized to be displayed in a magazine spread rather than worked in, although that was probably just a result of their hasty transfer, which meant that their files would arrive after them. 

“I like it,” Roy commented, ignoring his perfectly functional chair in favor of sitting atop his desk. “It feels like a new beginning,” 

“You’re in a really good mood,” Breda reflected, doing a quick sweep of the desk he had claimed to make sure there weren’t any surprises hidden in any of the drawers. 

“I think I have reason to be pleased,” he responded with a bright confidence. His optimism certainly was new, but Riza thought it was becoming. 

Without their materials there wasn’t much to do on their first day after Roy had attended several compulsory meetings. Breda ducked out just after five to grab an early dinner at the deli shop that he had missed so desperately during his campaign in the west. That left Roy and Riza to flitter around each other for the remainder of the work day. They both left promptly at six, something that felt like a decadent luxury when compared to their workaholic tendencies. 

“You know, Captain, last night I was forced to drive myself home, and until then, I didn’t quite realize how much I had been taking you for granted,” He said on their way out. 

“Oh?” she urged him on, pausing on the sidewalk just next to the steps of HQ to hear what he had to say before she parted ways with him that evening. 

“You see,” he continued with a twinkling amusement, “my hands still get terribly sore from time to time, and I found it quite hard to grip the steering wheel. That put me in a rather precarious position, and I knew that you wouldn’t want me driving. I’m aware that I’ve already asked far too much of you, but would you mind driving me home again tonight?” 

Riza couldn't really see the reason for this deception, finding reasons that would leave them alone when he could have just as easily said he simply wanted to spend time with her and gotten the same response. 

She supposed it was sort of considerate of him, especially after she had confessed that she had enjoyed driving him earlier in the week. Although his hands were still obviously injured, it was a good, if unnecessary, excuse. She would have driven him at his request regardless. 

“I was right about the premature arthritis,” she said, taking his keys from where he offered them.

He laughed, and flexed his finger for emphasis. The scars on his hands were ugly. They were raised and puffy and still red, although the doctor claimed they would turn white eventually. Considering the large amount of delicate nerves in his hands that were damaged, his range of motion was impressive, but still incomplete. They joked about it now, but she hoped that the wounds Bradley inflicted would not become seriously debilitating. 

Roy had already sequestered a car from the motor pool for his personal use, although it probably wouldn’t be necessary, she wasn’t going to make it a habit of driving home, not when she lived so close and the weather was so nice. She’d suggest the General follow her example. Once the door had closed and they were confined to their seats, Hawkeye broke the ice.

“Was there anything in particular you wanted to talk to me about, sir?” 

“Yes,” he answered immediately, leaning back in his seat. “Although I’m afraid it will be poorly timed,” 

His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. She took a stuttered breath. 

“I think recent events have proven that time is...of the essence,” she said slowly, but with no lack of credence. Hawkeye had always been one for action, she valued decisiveness. When he’d attempted to have this same discussion two years ago she had shut him down, it hadn’t been the time then, and she couldn’t quite say that the proper time was now, but the Promised Day, and the aching months of separation before it, had set her on edge. Things could change at any moment, and the only time she could control was the present. So she made her move and waited for the General’s counter. 

Except, judging by the slackness of his jaw, her response seemed to catch him by surprise. He obviously didn't think she'd agree to any sort of open discussion. 

Recovering quickly he folded his hands in his lap and ruminated for a moment in silence. It became clear that lacing his fingers together had irritated his hands in some way, and he rubbed his palms together in an attempt to sooth them. He didn’t speak again, made no attempt to clarify himself, even hung his head a little bit. Riza almost found it funny, that Roy Mustang had failed to properly plan something out. 

But she knew she could take the lead in this, so the confidence with which she took his hand, his right one, the one closest to her, and pressed a kiss to the back of it wasn’t a surprise--to her at least. Roy regarded her with a look of extreme bafflement. 

She removed her lips from his skin, but kept his hand nestled alongside hers. The scarring on his hand, both from Bradley’s swords and the remnants of the transmutation circle he had carved himself effectively defaced his soulmark, leaving only the word “sorry” completely legible. If Riza believed in fate she might have claimed that it was the Universe’s way of correcting its oversight, instead of a series of misfortunes. In that moment she would have kissed his hand regardless of its state. 

“Why do you look so surprised, sir?” she asked lifting her gaze to meet his. In the car all the noise from outside seemed muffled and far away, while her own words seemed amplified, as if the two of them existed completely in their own space. Even their breaths seemed to echo off the cold glass. “Aren’t I allowed to kiss my soulmate?” 

It took less than heartbeat for him to process her statement. 

“I think I’d quite like it if you did it again,”

They shifted on the bench seat of the car, his hand was on her cheek, and when he leaned forward she barely felt his kiss for how soft it was. 

She pressed into him, hands on his lapels, breaths mingling, and teeth scraping against bottom lips. When they broke apart this time she was breathless. 

She released his jacket slowly and leaned back, shifting so that she was behind the wheel once more. Kissing him then was probably a stupid thing to do, as they were still in the military’s parking lot, and the windows were not opaque by any means, but she didn’t regret it. 

Roy looked at her softly as she started the car, and she could feel the lingering burn in her cheeks for the duration of the drive. 

“Now what?” he asked, whisper-quiet, once the car sat parked on the curb outside his building. 

And wasn’t that the million dollar question? The reason she had avoided this with such determination in the past? 

“There’s still much to be done,” she answered just as softly, and he nodded his head in agreement immediately, which she was grateful for. Part of her had half expected Roy to ardently refuse the notion of work before her; and however flattering, it was counterintuitive. 

“More of the same?” she suggested tentatively. It seemed strange to carry on as they had been when everything had changed and now sat out in the open. But on the other hand she liked what they had been doing, soulmates or not, they _worked_ , not just in the office, but as a team. 

He smiled, and Riza was surprised. She hadn’t thought that he would like the suggestion so much. 

“More of the same,” he agreed. Then he leaned forward and stole another chaste kiss. “And perhaps more of that,” 

“Maybe we can fit it into your schedule,” 

She smiled at back at him, because she couldn’t help it. They would establish a routine tomorrow, and fall back into the unforgiving pit of their work, slowly clawing their way to the end goal. They’de be too busy for things that Riza didn’t particularly care about. Too busy for romance, too busy to be soulmates. Because more importantly they’de be the Colonel and the Lieutenant, or rather, the Brigadier and the Captain, something much more than a couple. 

He slid out of the car and gave a raise of his hand in farewell. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Captain,” he said. 

_And every day after_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of this short multichap fic, I'm sorta unsure about how I feel about this final chapter, it's shorter and the characterization feels kinda weird, not to mention the timeline makes is very uneven. But I really like the idea I had for the fic, and I like proving to myself that I can finish projects like this, so thanks for reading and any feedback would be great!

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of soulmate aus, but I think I love subverting the soulmate trope in fanfiction more, and I don't see it done all that often, so I wanted to take a crack at it. I apologize for the story's rather awful summary.
> 
> The first two chapters of this story will be from Roy's POV and the last two will be from Riza's, and most of the story (with the exception of the last chapter) takes place pre canon. The title, and the quotes that proceed each chapter, are taken from Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist, which is a great novel that shares some themes with this fic. The next chapter will probably be up next saturday, and as always feedback is great.


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